


Fuji's Guide to Falling

by Numisma (InTheTatras)



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-31
Updated: 2007-03-31
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheTatras/pseuds/Numisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wouldn't have taken a data master to predict the aftermath. Spoilers for Genius 321.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuji's Guide to Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Giftfic for Maxine-chan, written for spring_fluff 2007. Part of this fic was inspired by [this ficlet](http://meritjubet.livejournal.com/213198.html) by Meritjubet.

This was not how they were supposed to appear at Nationals.

Of that, Mizuki was certain, had been certain and always would be certain.

They were meant to be strutting upon the courts, not suffocating in the higher reaches of the stands.

But here they were, St. Rudolph's only presence was that of mere spectators.

Mizuki heaved a sigh of continued disbelief as the match between Shitenhouji's Shiraishi and his destined rival Fuji Syuusuke progressed. Fuji was down 5-0. He had just collapsed onto the court. Yuuta, seated by Mizuki, was screaming, yelling, but Mizuki couldn't hear him over his thoughts, his internal dialogue.

He was miles away.

Calculations on newly gathered data rushed past through his head; Mizuki looped a curl of hair around his finger. He pulled hard. He sneered, all but biting his thumb, unable to decide which was the greater offense: that Fuji was about to lose - unless he planned to pull the same trick on Shiraishi that he'd pulled on him during the prefectural quarterfinals - or that _someone else_ was on the brink of defeating the great Fuji Syuusuke.

Was it better to hope Shiraishi would win? Mizuki couldn't deny the satisfaction he'd feel when that self-righteous so-called tensai would finally fall. To lose here would be _pathetic_. The way Shiraishi had neutralized his counters, Fuji was like a bird whose wings had been broken.

Or should he dare to howl for Shiraishi's inevitable demise at the hands of his, Mizuki's, greatest rival? Fuji was _his_ to defeat. Payback and all. No one else deserved to bring him down, not after-- not after _that_.

Feeling a tug at his sleeve, Mizuki drawled out, "What _is_ it, Yuuta-kun?" in a dangerous tone. That was when he saw where Yuuta was pointing. It seemed he'd withdrawn, zoned out, to such an extent that only now did he register the change in atmosphere.

He snapped to attention just in time to see Fuji hit a brutal return. His figure was bright; Fuji was lit with passion.

That wasn't just any return.

Mizuki's heart leapt into his throat. Eyes wide, he leant forward in his seat to watch better. It couldn't be, but it was.

The counters... were evolving...

This was more like it.

Mizuki continued to watch as the newly reanimated Fuji proceeded to even the score one counter at a time, in veiled awe at his final return. Yuuta was pumped up as he cheered. Mizuki's finger subconsciously went for his hair again.

"Aniki really is awesome!" yelled Yuuta beside him.

Mizuki composed himself in an effort to suppress his enthusiasm. To gawk was unbecoming. Now that the ball was rolling again it seemed there was no need to 'worry' - not that he'd been worrying - Fuji was still his to crush. Besides, people might be looking at them; Yuuta was certain to attract attention.

With narrowed eyes Mizuki muttered half-coherently before breathing out, "Your brother really aggravates me." He tugged on a stray lock of hair, a flood of half-rational irritation worming its way through him.

The crowd continued to cheer. 

It was after Fuji secured his sixth straight game that Shiraishi broke through the Gate of Hecatoncheires and drew the score even once again. Mizuki clenched his teeth, restraining himself from miming choking motions in the air. His hands ached to wrap around Shiraishi's throat.

It was after Fuji's Hakuryuu bounced out that he found himself two points behind, on the brink of exhaustion, and defeated. The crowd was buzzing with emotion over the outcome. Mizuki twitched in horror. He sneered, lip curling with disgust.

Shiraishi was a dead man.

-

It no longer mattered who became National champion. Mizuki's attention was focused entirely on what was still to come of St. Rudolph's tennis club. With that in mind, at the practice following Nationals he waited until an opportunity arose for him to pull Yuuta aside while the others were busy. It came when practice wrapped up for the afternoon. Mizuki felt somewhat stiff in his frame as he placed a hand onto Yuuta's shoulder and gave it a meaningful squeeze.

"Follow me, please, Yuuta-kun," he articulated. Yuuta turned to give him a questioning look. "There's something we need to discuss," he added. 

Yuuta glanced around at the third-years who were heading for the clubroom, then back, and nodded. "Uh, okay." Mizuki motioned with his head toward a copse of trees on the far side of the courts near the school building. Yuuta was bewildered and, still clutching his racket by the handle, they headed on over. Mizuki crossed his legs and leaned a hand against a tree.

"So."

"...Yeah?" Yuuta tapped the frame of his racket against his leg repeatedly. This was one of those times where he couldn't tell what sort of mood Mizuki was in. During these times it was always best to let him reveal said mood as he saw fit.

"Hm." Mizuki twirled a lock of hair with his free hand, not looking at Yuuta for a moment before loftily replying, "You'll be captain next year."

"I... will be?" said Yuuta, caught offguard.

"Yes," Mizuki stressed, perhaps a bit too strongly because he followed up that statement with a tamer one. "That is, it was my intention. The club must be left in good hands, you know."

Yuuta was silent for a moment. He stared, waiting for Mizuki to smirk, give his signature laugh and reveal it'd been a joke. It never happened. In fact, Mizuki was giving him a serious look now, as if daring him to react first. Yuuta wet his lips. "You're-- really-- captain-- even after--" he said unevenly. His racket stilled. "What about Kaneda--?"

Mizuki broke in before Yuuta could say anything stupid: " _Yuuta-kun_ , nfu, you're not asking me to change my mind, are you?" The words rolled off his tongue with their usual airy charisma. The grin he wore was smug.

"I-- no! Not at all!" Immediately Yuuta steeled himself together and wiped the surprise off his face. With eyes shut tightly he gave a bow of respect. While the position wouldn't be his until the following April Yuuta refused to appear without gratitude for this privilege. "Thank you very much, Mizuki-san!"

Mizuki let go of his hair and examined his nails, then blew on them and directed his attention back to Yuuta. "I entrust you won't let me down?"

"Never!" Yuuta replied in an adamant tone, though in the back of his mind lurked a not-so-distant memory. No, he wouldn't let that happen again. He couldn't.

"Good to hear." Straightening, Mizuki motioned with a hand. "Do you have plans this afternoon?"

Yuuta stalled at the left-field query for a moment. "Uh, no. I don't," he ventured. "Why?"

Mizuki's smile vanished. His eyes flitted up and down Yuuta's form. He spoke only two words. "Captaincy training." St. Rudolph would lose five of its seven regulars due to graduation, and of the remaining first and second years there were few of Mizuki's preferred caliber. If the school wished to stand a chance next year it would be necessary to recruit more players from other schools. Mizuki had a lot of work ahead of him. Yuuta would only be captain whereas Mizuki had been manager, but at this point there being a new manager was doubtful.

Judging by Yuuta's enthusiasm as he answered yes, Mizuki may as well have asked him out for cake. Yuuta gave a wide grin and shouldered his racket, eyes lighting up. "Sure, when?"

"Right now. Put your racket away and get changed," Mizuki directed. "We're going scouting."

The first stop on his list: Daikoku Junior High, the school which years ago produced the all-rounder Yagami.

-

"Aniki," said Yuuta flatly from the doorway. What a perturbing scene to walk in on.

Syuusuke turned from the windowsill with a look of feigned surprise. He smiled. "Yuuta! You came home for the weekend?"

"You were talking to your cactus."

"Yes, Aniki, I came home for the weekend." Syuusuke's voice was enthusiastic and cheery sounding. Yuuta suppressed a twitch.

"You were talking to your cactus," he repeated.

"That's nothing new," Syuusuke assured, as if in comfort. "I talk to my cacti every day."

"They must be wonderful conversationalists," said Yuuta dryly, neither comforted nor surprised by his brother's admission. At this point in his life he wouldn't put it past Syuusuke to believe he could communicate telepathically with them. He could see it now: Aniki would claim it was to prevent others from eavesdropping. Yuuta wasn't even certain he'd bat an eye if it were true. He'd probably be too busy holding a blank stare. 

Syuusuke was hardly put off by Yuuta's comment; rather, it seemed to encourage him. "They are." He slid an open-eyed gaze toward the row of potted cacti on the windowsill, pointed at each and expounded upon the topic of human-cactus conversation as it applied to their interests. Yuuta sighed. Syuusuke acted like he hadn't heard it. 

Yuuta rolled his eyes, taking a seat in the swivel chair at the nearby desk. His brother was so _weird_. "Aniki," he broke in, arms crossed.

"Yes, Yuuta?" Syuusuke didn't turn around, but he did take this opportunity to scoot into a more comfortable position on his bed. Yuuta kicked his feet against the chair rollers. The last time he'd seen his brother was at Nationals. They hadn't gotten to talk much and...

Yuuta frowned for a split second. He uncrossed his arms. The tension in his shoulders was beginning to annoy him. For some reason he'd been really tense the whole train ride over, and he knew that couldn't be attributed to whatever he might anticipate from a weekend at home. A normal weekend, that is. This wasn't a normal weekend home.

"I-I'm going to be captain next year," said Yuuta once Syuusuke was facing him. "I found out the other day."

Suddenly Yuuta had his brother's undivided attention. Syuusuke beamed with interest. "Oh, that's wonderful! I think you could make a good captain," he stated, and from there the brothers found themselves diving into a healthy string of topics related to tennis. For once Yuuta felt comfortable talking like this, just him and Aniki and tennis. He wasn't certain how to broach the topic of Aniki's singles loss, or what he wanted to say about it, but it kept niggling at him the longer it remained unmentioned.

Still, it felt nice to have something to be proud over.

"Heh, that's right!" said Yuuta during a lull. He'd turned the swivel chair around and sat on it backwards, and at the moment was spinning in half circles back and forth, forearms resting atop the chairback. "You never got asked to be captain or vice captain, did ya? So I got somethin' on you there." Nevermind that St. Rudolph's tennis club was vastly smaller in comparison to Seigaku's. Yuuta had decided to selectively forget about that.

"No, I never was, but it was never my aim," Syuusuke admitted with a soft laugh. He had his legs folded up on his bed, an arm around the upright one for leverage. Before Yuuta could retort, he added, "If you want something to be proud of, Yuuta, you'll always be better at playing lefthanded."

The swivel chair stilled. Yuuta stared at his brother, a scowl on his face. "You're making fun of me," he muttered bitterly.

The smile on Syuusuke's face did not waver. If anything it widened.

"Don't do that. It's irritating."

Syuusuke's eyes snapped open and zeroed in on Yuuta. "I'm being perfectly serious." Yuuta huffed, rolling his eyes. "I'd offer to prove it to you with a match but _that_ would be making fun of you," Syuusuke mused. Yuuta continued to scowl, narrowing his eyes at him, so Syuusuke slid off the bed and headed for the bookcase where he shelved all his photo albums. Yuuta watched as he perused the album spines before selecting one and flipping through the pages. What the hell was he up to?

"Ah, here we go." Syuusuke crossed the room and handed him the open album. Yuuta straightened, reluctantly took the album, and looked. The two-page spread was occupied with several old photos of a five year old Yuuta. Photos from when Yuuta had first started tennis lessons. The photo in the far upper left corner depicted Yuuta in mid-swing, the racket large and unwieldy in his hand. In the one below, Yuuta was hugging his racket to his chest like a prized stuffed animal. His face was dirty and he wore a smug grin. Yuuta's brow furrowed; his eyes moved from one photo to the next, or tried to until his brother pointed a long, slender finger at a photo in the far lower right of the other page. His gaze couldn't help but be drawn to the indicated photo.

"Do you remember that first week, Yuuta?" Syuusuke was saying, but it sounded distant. Yuuta suddenly felt incredibly tiny, as if he'd been sucked into the photos of himself from long ago, built to scale. His scowl vanished, replaced by a blank, contemplative expression as he zoned out further. "And if we turn the page, I've some from the second week-- after you found out tennis could be played lefthanded."

Syuusuke took the corner and turned the page. Yuuta was very quiet. He barely registered that his brother had spoken. His eyes flicked from photo to photo. The ones on the previous pages had shown him holding the racket with his right hand - just like Aniki. In these next photos, Yuuta's five year old counterpart was holding it with his left. 

He remembered. 

The photo his brother had pointed out on the previous page had been of a sour-faced Yuuta. That first week of lessons Yuuta had tried his hardest - he had - but it was awkward to follow through with his serves and returns. Even for a beginner his age he'd seemed to have no sense of control. The handgrip had been uncomfortable in his hand and by the end of the day his entire hand was sore. 

Then there was that tennis magazine that Aniki had shown him. Yuuta remembered this vividly now; he could see it in his mind: his big brother pointing at a picture of a pro about whom an article had been written. The pro had been a lefty.

In the current two-page spread the photos of Yuuta were various action shots. In all of them, Yuuta was holding the racket in his left hand.

A torrent of half-forgotten memories swelled within him. Yuuta shut his eyes and snapped the album shut. He hugged it to his chest. Man, did his brother have photos of _everything_?

"Yeah," Yuuta affirmed at last. "Yeah, I remember." His foot tapped quietly against the rollers of the swivel chair. Syuusuke said nothing, just reached for the album and tugged it from him when Yuuta refused to let go the first time.

"Playing lefthanded, and playing strong against lefties, is your strength, Yuuta," Syuusuke stated as he returned the album to its rightful place on his bookshelf. Turning around, he smiled serenely. "Your grumpy look is so adorable. Are you in the mood for a match?"

"Sure, I--" Yuuta's brain caught up with him as he registered his brother's words. "Wait, _what did you call me_?" 

Syuusuke laughed.

-

There were no tennis courts on the Fuji family property. As such, once the brothers had changed into attire akin to outdoor activity and gathered their rackets, they took off for the nearby street courts. They laughed and chatted most of the way. Inside Yuuta was beaming. He hated to admit that his brother was right about anything, but all that stuff about playing lefthanded and playing strongly against other lefties was true. That and his future captaincy were a great boost to his mood.

So was the nice, quiet game he anticipated with his brother. Something fun. Something personal.

He wasn't expecting anything to ruin it. Even if his brother could be weird or annoying a lot. Okay, _sometimes_.

The thought was nowhere near his mind.

Then he spotted the last person he wanted to run into while in the company of his brother.

"Hn, what a surprise _this_ is, Yuuta-kun," came a voice from across the street.

It would be more accurate to say he heard him first.

Yuuta froze midstep. He turned his head in the direction of the voice, hoping without hope that the speaker was someone else. He failed to notice that his brother had also stopped at about the same time.

Yuuta blinked and then mentally cringed when he spotted Mizuki heading for the crosswalk over to their side, forcing a smile as their eyes met. At this point Yuuta knew there was no way to sidestep out of this confrontation. If only he had been accompanied by anyone _other_ than Aniki.

His brother was silent. After arguing with the voices in his head Yuuta raised his hand and waved, a sheepish look on his face. "Ah, hey, Mizuki-san." It would be safer in the long run, Yuuta thought, to pretend like nothing were wrong. Having an invisibility cloak on hand would have been far grander; if only they _existed_!

Mizuki seemed to be holding back a facial twitch as he drew closer; joyous at catching Yuuta outside school, ambivalent at catching the elder Fuji with him. "You are up to something constructive, I hope, Yuuta-kun?" he remarked, eyeing them both, but mostly Yuuta.

"I, yeah, of course." Yuuta's tone edged toward unevenness as he answered. He prayed Mizuki wouldn't pick up on it. He shrugged the shoulder over which his tennis bag was slung, indicating the rackets inside.

"I see." Mizuki's gaze slid from Yuuta over to his brother. "Fancy running into you," he all but seethed.

Holding back a curse, Yuuta let his expression fall blank.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" his brother asked, his face the epitome of apologetic innocence.

Here we go again, thought Yuuta.

"...I'm not falling for that again, Fuji-kun. You know precisely who I am. Don't try to fake it."

Yuuta nearly facepalmed upon hearing his brother's response: "Mitsuwa?" to which Mizuki narrowed his eyes at them both (as if this were Yuuta's fault) and supplied a correction.

"It's Mizuki."

"Oh. Right. Misuki."

Yuuta sent his brother a half-pleading, half-annoyed glance. Did he intend to do this every single time? Yuuta'd seen it twice and already he was tired of it.

" _Mizuki_ ," Mizuki ground out, before letting out a laugh of satisfaction. "It looks like you have some shortcomings after all, if you cannot remember a person's name five seconds after--"

"Oh, I think you'll find that an inaccurate observation," Yuuta's brother broke in, smile serene as ever. "I can hear just fine. I merely choose to screw it up when I say it."

Yuuta sighed as he began counting in his head, to keep himself calm. Mizuki was digging his own grave, Mizuki was digging his own grave, Mizuki was digging his own grave...

Mizuki's eyes glinted with a flash of anger. "That doesn't mean you're free of shortcomings! You- you- you--" he all but snarled. A finger wrapped around a lock of hair and played with it as if in comfort. 

With an abrupt intake of breath, as if he hadn't the time to spare for coming up with a better slew of insults, Mizuki shouted, "The great Fuji Syuusuke has fallen!"

There followed a period of silence but for passing traffic and wind in the leaves of nearby trees. Yuuta stared at his senpai and manager, then looked aside at his brother. He was no longer smiling. His lips were pressed into a thin line.

His eyes slowly opened. They focused on Mizuki so harshly that Yuuta was reminded of their confrontation back during Prefecturals.

For a moment Syuusuke stared at Mizuki, then the corners of his lips quirked upward into a chilly smile. "Skinned knees are nothing to cry over."

It wouldn't have taken a data master to predict the aftermath. Yuuta saw it coming a mile away. Mizuki tried and failed, again, to shake him. When that proved futile he pulled out the last piece from his arsenal. 

Mizuki wanted a rematch.

Fuji gladly gave him this. Like the last time, Fuji came out the winner. It had been no contest. Mizuki lost in six straight sets. Unlike the last time, however, Yuuta did not entirely mind that his brother won.

Yuuta could see something that Mizuki couldn't. Now that he knew it was there, he was all the more anxious to take his racket back from Mizuki.

All the more anxious to take his spot on the court across from his brother.


End file.
